The Last of Trinidad – the First of Tobago

Chaguaramas Bay, Trinidad with its almost totally ‘boat yardy’ culture was beginning, after so much time there, to feel like a slightly shabby lack-lustre and rather work-worn home.  We concluded that it was not the location, but the kindred spirits, which gave it interest and a veneer of homeliness.  We soon had friends and neighbours with whom we would exchange news and views – refreshingly not all boat related and not all British.  We were one of the few boats who had done our time ashore and completed our restoration and bottom-scouring we were in the enviable position of just awaited the arrival of a part for the cooker from the US.  In summary, a promised four day delivery, took thirteen days.  During this period of inactivity we found ourselves providing succour to those still baking ‘on the hard’ doing their chores.  They would pop along during their day and share a beer and commiserations and in the evenings we found ourselves discussing the day’s progress over yet more beers and often a bar meal too.  (Our expanded waistlines are still evidence of those calorie laden soirees).  What made it so fascinating was the back-story each couple had to tell about their sailing journey thus far which had bought us all together……success in a family business permitting an early, if rather unpopular, early retirement to ‘live the dream’; a romantic tale of a sailing partner tragically lost to cancer but another soul-mate wonderfully found;  a couple who had left UK 18 years ago, intending to sail away for three or so….but here they still are with a seriously intimate knowledge of the entire Caribbean; and another couple who were having to say ‘a bientot’ to their whole escape-across-the-oceans adventure , he having been head-hunted by a company in Singapore with a job-offer which would make saying ‘no thankyou’ foolhardy indeed.  Our closest confidantes were a British couple who had met on a sailing course in Portugal – he the instructor and she the late-to-sailing student.  Happily, one thing had led to another and after selling homes, buying a boat and forsaking pressured jobs they had set sail – first in an exploration of the Mediterranean and then across the pond…and here they were as oft as not sitting in our cockpit, lending wise counsel, advice and their indomitable sense of humour to all things boat related and much more besides.  They also introduced us to ‘dark and stormies’:  oh dear!  A far too winning combination of ginger beer (incredibly home-brewed in their case), dark rum and with an added dash of Stone’s Ginger Wine plus loads of ice.  Golly Gosh….a phew(!) of those and we were well and truly putting the boatyard, Trinidad, the Caribbean….nay… the entire World to rights!

The wait for our illusive cooker part also gave us the opportunity to have a 6-day break from Chaguaramas with visiting friends Lauriann, John and their 17 year old son Matthew (our Godson) who were joining us on board at the end of their Caribbean tour which had included Grand Cayman, Cuba and Tobago.  With them we were able to retrace the island-hopping routes we had taken with Judy a few weeks previously:  Chacachacare, a little way up the north coast and Scotland Bay.  After a busy schedule they were content to relax, snorkel and swim from the boat.  It was especially delightful to get to have time with Lauriann and John and to get to know Matthew better.  He relished the time under Colin’s tutelage sailing and dinghy-driving and he and I cooked together (Matt having found a delicious fish stew recipe) We also discovered that he and I share a similar musical taste -of course mine rooted in the past and his definitely bang up-to-date but nonetheless a very eclectic, thoughtful and tasteful collection which has opened dear old Auntie Gill’s ears!  In Scotland Bay, much to the collective male delight, Colin rigged the spinnaker pole at 90 degrees out across the middle of the boat enabling them to swing out and make flourishing re-entries into the water.  By the end of the afternoon, Tom Daley would indeed have been proud of their polished pre-splash summersaults!

The part for our cooker eventually arrived  – what’s more we managed to prise it out of the hands of the extremely over-zealous Trinidadian Customs…..no mean feat (their back room full of unclaimed parcels collecting dust exemplified how many others have never managed to complete that spectacularly bureaucratic hurdle).  Our excuse for staying any longer in Power Boats had evaporated.  Thus with half eager and half sad hearts we left and set sail for the exposed northern coast of Trinidad en route for Tobago which is awkwardly (for the sailor) placed straight in to the trade winds to the north-east of Trinidad.  As I have mentioned, we had already had some experience of the north coast having made several forays out there (much to the collective boat-yarders consternation) with our recent guests – at least as far as the first craggy, rain-forest-clad deserted bay called La Vache.  On our first visit with Judy we had found it stunning but the rolly swell had caused us to have a rather sleepless, uncomfortable night.  Not to be put off, we returned with Lauriann, John and Matthew and had a truly enchanting time there:  clear water swimming; a beautiful sunset giving way to a spectacular moon-rise and unlimited stars and complete isolation and calm.  We were very pleased to be able to share with them one of the most enduring pleasures of life afloat – the ability to find such incredible places, often only accessible by water, forcing a peacefully commune with nature and the amazing landscape that lies hidden behind our chaotic often all-consuming lives.  In all senses…..a full stop.

After such a magical time at La Vache Bay previously and now having properly left Chaguaramas this time we decided to press on and cover some miles along the north coast   There were about 45 miles to cover (as the crow flies….or in our case the frigate bird flies) to windward which, to the uninitiated, means tacking in and out to make any progress under sail or alternatively (perish the thought on Resolute!) motoring hard into wind and swell and making equally slow progress.  Happily, we were able to sail and tack back and forth in the lightish easterly trade winds without much effort during which Harriet the Hydovane had her first outing for some time – reminding us how very useful she is.  We then found ourselves at the end of the first day about 20 miles along in Las Cuevas, a small beach-edged bay with a small fishing village tucked right in to the corner with its bobbing fleet of little wooden boats.  The most sheltered spot was of course occupied by the local fleet but we managed to get ourselves as far out of the swell as possible before dropping our anchor and thus managed a fairly stable night.

We were awoken early by the engines and rolly-wakes of the fisher-boats as they left the sleepy harbour.  Being newly re-acquainted and filled with our former adventurous zeal we were happy to have an enforced early start and sailed on once more.  Of course this is the rainy season and each day there is always some rain…but usually accompanied by intermittent sunshine.  This day however, was grey and dull with very frequent rain showers and squalls, but blissfully cool.  The low cloud made the coastal mountains look darkly broody with wispy cloud clinging to their ledges – much more akin to the Norwegian fjord scenery with which we had grown so familiar in our former life.  After another tack-filled day we eventually found ourselves in the last of the bays on the northern Trinidad coast, Grand Riviere.  Tobago is a mere 23 miles north-east of this bay but disappointingly, because of the gloom we were still unable to see it despite having seen the ‘fastcat’ ferries plying backwards and forwards several times a day…..it was definitely out there somewhere.  Grand Riviere is a famous place in Trinidad mainly due to turtles who have singled out that particular beach on which to lay their eggs.  These are mainly the huge leather-back variety which can be about 4-6 feet in length.  The site is protected during the laying and hatching season – which had unfortunately just finished – during which tourists come in their droves to watch the nightly spectacle overseen by rangers and guides.  The night we were there we kept our eyes peeled for any late arrivals but were sadly disappointed.  As night fell – always promptly at 6.30 – we fancied we could see the glow of an island in the distance…..could that be the illusive Tobago at last?

The next morning we found ourselves in a different world entirely.  Blue skies and seas and in the distance a land-mass was clear to see at last….Tobago.  This last leg we expected to be the most challenging but somehow the winds decided to position themselves behind us in a south-easterly direction.  Hurray!  What should have been a breezy tack across turned out to be a broad reach with the wind comfortably aft for most of the way….much more pleasant and fast.  How can I have failed to tell you until this point about the necessary clearing in and out process?  Any obsessive reader of this blog will know what an arduous task this tends to be – especially to the island cruiser who wishes him/herself to be free of the shackles of nationalistic and bureaucratic governmental systems.  Ah, but Trinidad and Tobago are the same country I hear you sagely counter!  Yes…and no.  The Trinidad and Tobago Customs and Immigration service probably takes first prize for the most cumbersome and archaic system we have yet had the pleasure to encounter in the Caribbean.  Thus, we had to clear out of Trinidad at Chaguaramas (the only point of clearance) and had a sealed note – in triplicate of course – to take to Customs and Immigration in Tobago to be found in Scarborough the capital.  With these kindly south-easterly winds pushing us across the divide we decided we could actually make straight for Scarborough to get the clearing process completed and out of the way before we enjoyed the more secluded delights promised by the southern and eastern coasts of Tobago.  Feeling suitably pleased with ourselves for having made a sensible plan come together, we arrived in Scarborough negotiating a difficult reef-lined and not particularly clearly-marked channel.  Our pilot book (admittedly written 7 years ago) had assured us that in the harbour we would be able to find a place to anchor for the night and thus we could complete our mission to make ourselves legal and see something of Scarborough too.  Would you believe it?  All the available anchoring space promised was taken up with ill-placed and dangerously rope strewn private buoys with the potential to snag the propeller of the unwary.  Tantalisingly, we could see the dock buildings which housed the Customs and Immigration offices ironically emblazoned with the message ‘welcome to the port of Scarborough’ but could we find a safe spot to anchor…no.  Not much of a welcome for us then!  Feeling dejected, thwarted and miffed we made our way out of the harbour again and towards to the southern coast where, if our somewhat out-dated pilot book could really be believed, was a much more yachtie-friendly anchorage – Store Bay, another eleven or so miles away…..from where public transport could be taken to Scarborough to clear in….sigh!

 

Chacachacare with Lauriann, John and Matt – time for a barbeque ashore.

Moonrise at La Vache Bay

The Sweeter Taste of Trinidad

To the lighthouse! (The last 350 steps – with Judy).

Scarlet ibis amassing – Caroni swamp.

 

Here they come! Scarlet ibis in flight – Caroni swamp.

 

Caiman on banks of Caroni swamp.

 

Boa constrictor curled up in tree above us on Caroni swamp.

 

View from veranda – Asa Wright Centre.

 

Hummingbird in flight – Asa Wright Centre

 

Hummingbird at Asa Wright Centre

 

Mangoes galore!

 

Ever hopeful Corbeaus vulture.

 

Our view from the summit.

 

Gilly and Judy half dead at the summit.

 

The lighthouse itself.

 

My previous entry perhaps gave you a somewhat jaundiced view of Trinidad.  Our perceptions on arrival, we now recognise, were not altogether typical.  In order to redress the balance we would like to tell you about the explorations we have done with our visitors of late which I hope will sweeten your taste of Trini.

Trinidad is big, prosperous and pre-occupied.  Along its western coast skirts a wide, frantic 6-lane highway, the likes of which we have not seen in these climes since Guadeloupe.  Traversing along it one glimpses the prosperous villas which try to outdo each other in their grandeur and elevation on the slopes of the rain forests overlooking the thriving capital city of Port of Spain.  Here the streets teem with street-vendors and shop-keepers selling everything imaginable and more besides.  Offices glow with high-rise glassy class and the impressive modern Government buildings pronounce themselves proudly on a fountained water-fronted esplanade.  It is certainly impressive in places.  Of course, one can also see undisguised poverty – sometimes starkly juxtaposed with the luxurious trappings of the prosperous in a seemingly cruel comparison of fortunes.

Here the word ‘diverse’ takes on a new significance.  As I mentioned in my last blog, there is a very diverse population:  about 40% Afro-Trinidadian; 30% Indo-Trinidadian alongside many other former Europeans and South Americans.  The overlapping of these peoples is noticeable everywhere with a resulting rich melange of ethnicity and culture.  There is also a wide bio-diversity in Trinidad with flora and fauna unique to the island.  Lastly, a vibrant economy based on oil, gas (liquefied natural gas) ammonia and methanol production, the largest natural pitch lake in the world and supporting agriculture and offshore oil production services makes many very wealthy.

So amongst all the hustle and bustle of business and enterprise the unsuspecting tourist carries little weight and, it feels, has to shout quite loudly to get needs met.  We have been spoilt on other islands where tourism is their economic mainstay ensuring that nothing is too much trouble.  Here life would go on with or without the tourist.  The massive boatyards in Chaguaramas Harbour of course have a reason to be helpful as the revenue stream at this time of year from cruising boats like ours all needing to be out of the hurricane zone from June to November and using the time window to have work done is phenomenal.  Every effort is made to accommodate their material needs…but luxuries and home comforts (be still my beating heart….) are few.  Yes, I appreciate that boat yards per se are not glamorous places to spend time (and believe me I have spent time in many!) but there is the feeling here in Power Boats that the ‘ghetto-isation’ may have gone a little far.

We were pleased then to be able to beat the trend, get Resolute back in the water (albeit still in Power Boats yard) and entertain our friends from dear old Blighty to a bit of Trinidad proper.  You would presume that as Trinidad is such a big island there would be plenty of sailing haunts but this is far from true.  There are some islands on the north-westerly tip which are very pretty, forest-clad havens where the rich have their villas and speed boats; there are a few Yacht Clubs but most are full to bursting with local boats and there is,a little further afield – the limit being within sight of the Venezuelan coast, an island with the delightful tongue- twister name of Chacachacare. Beautiful as the island is today, only half a century ago things were very different as Chacachacare was a leper colony.  A crescent shaped island with a huge, sheltered, central bay it was ideally suited for such an onerous purpose with ample places for visiting  supply boats to tie up and for the doctors,Dominican nuns and of course the victims themselves to live.  It was only in the 1980’s, when, thank God, it was acknowledged locally that leprosy was not contagious, that the remaining inmates were taken to the mainland hospital and the island once again returned to nature.  And nothing much has been touched since, making it a remarkable and very atmospheric place to visit.  The Doctor’s house and jetty still remains and the Nun’s accommodation, chapel and burial ground still loom large over the bay.  Despite its terrible purpose it must have been an awe-inspiring place to live and work.  For us today there are no restrictions here – any anchoring place is fair game and any dinghy landing space affords a trek ashore through the ruins which are soon to be completely overtaken by the encroaching forest – and all with the backdrop of howling monkeys and cawing birds.  There is a preponderance of the wheeling Corbeaus birds high overhead here – a small type of vulture.  One doesn’t like to ponder too long about why they might have chosen this particular island for their home.

When Colin suggested to Judy (who was visiting) and me that a walk up to the lighthouse would be good we stupidly did not ask the most salient question:  how far is it?  Consequently, in the full midday sun we plodded up the paved path and round too many hairpin bends to mention – hoping beyond hope that around the next one we would arrive.  Several hours later we were high up in the treetops and Colin was sent on ahead by the weary ladies who plonked themselves down in some shade to recover.  He was some time so we assumed the worst….that the lighthouse was still a long way off.  A snake ventured half way across the path just below us casually minding his own business.  In horror I jumped up faster than I would have thought possible from the nearly prone position I was in…..causing Mr. Snake to stop and peer our way before making a hasty retreat into the undergrowth from whence he had come – and reappear shortly afterwards crossing the path further down and safely far away from the scary, large, sweaty, heffalumps! (Sorry Judy – purely from Mr. Snake’s perspective of course!)  Colin returned to pronounce the lighthouse was only 350 steps away…at which we roused ourselves to complete the merry jaunt.  Lighthouse, having been reached, was a big disappointment as it was little more than a squat, rusting metal tower surrounded by barbed wire and the massive diesel cans which presumably once held the fuel which fired the noisy generator which was also loudly evident.  Feeling and, I am sure, looking, nearly half dead the flocks of Corbeaus vultures up there started looking towards us more than inquisitively, not too wrong in their estimation that we might soon be rich pickings.  The views of Venezuela, Trinidad and the other islands were incredible but only visible through small gaps in the trees.  The trees however were laden with manna from heaven – or so it seemed…..weighed down with hundreds of ripe, juicy mangoes which we sat on a hanging plank and ate insatiably.  We also filled our back packs with them to bring down to the boat as well as numerous avocados.  Rich pickings indeed!  Suitably refreshed we took the path down uneventfully and as soon as we could took a dip in the cool, clear green waters. It had never felt so good.

The metropolis of Port of Spain, the capital of Trinidad could not have been more different.  Bustling with crowds of shoppers and workers we made our way through the criss-cross of streets in torrential rain…taking cover with everyone else under any shelter.  We passed The Red House – which was the former Parliament building, these days bedecked with scaffolding but still with the magnificent edifice clearly visible.  We spent a good few hours drying out in the National Museum and Art Gallery which displays everything from Arawak native artefacts to modern day vibrant acrylic  paintings.

Ian our stalwart taxi driver offered to take us all deep into the rain forest to the Asa Wright Nature Centre.  A former lodge to a cocoa plantation the Centre is now a ‘not for profit’ trust.  From the lodge veranda we were able to see amazing birds feeding at the feeders not a foot away from our eyes…stunning, tiny hummingbirds; tanagers and other exquisite birds.  In the distance we could see toucans in the trees and enormous vultures drying their wings.  Not for nothing is this area called ‘rain forest’….as we discovered to our cost when we took the guided hike through the reserve itself where rare plants and creatures also lurked.  We ended up soaking wet but over awed.  Truly incredible.  Although we felt our back- to- nature cup was running over, Ian then took us down, down, down to water level to the Carobi swamp where we donned our insect repellent and clambered into a motorised punt.  The guide pointed out some real wonders of nature as he took us deep into the mangrove swamp:  boa constrictors were tightly coiled asleep in the trees above us (waiting to gobble up birds as they slept in the trees overnight apparently); small caiman (little crocodiles) basked, still-eyed on the banks where unassuming herons stalked little fish.  We then moored up and held our collective breath and waited for dusk and the Main Event.  And then they came…from all directions around us.  Scarlet Ibis.  Bright red really does not adequately describe their colour.  They were startling, vivid, bling red. Every night they all come to their particular resting place on one particular island in the swamp and we had the privilege to watch them come.  At the finale the trees on which they were taking their rest looked like a massive shrub in full, gaudy, scarlet bloom, almost luminous in the fading light.

I hope by now I have convinced you that Trinidad is more than a throbbing commercial hub with little time in its schedule for tourism.  In the background to the rapid heartbeat is an unseen world where time has stood still and beauty still holds sway.  We are so grateful to have had the opportunity to glimpse these hidden wonders which have reshaped our slightly jaundiced first impressions.  Trinidad’s sister, Tobago, now awaits….about 70 miles against wind and swell….oh joy!

The Nun’s quarters, Chacachacare

The Doctor’s House, Chacachacare